


whispers in the sand

by RedCrimez89



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Study, Dark Past, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Healing, Multi, Past Lives, Past life, Reminiscing, Stars, honestly this was super random, kinda??, mama talia is the only talia I believe in, no editing we die like robins, try to convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCrimez89/pseuds/RedCrimez89
Summary: sometimes, damian looked up at the stars and remembered another life that is not his
Relationships: Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	whispers in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t actually plan on posting this. To be honest, most of this story is just me exploring Damian as a character and trying to change up the tone of my writing. It probably does have third person words mixed with first person (I know, it’s bad and I should fix it but I’m too lazy) and it probably doesn’t flow correctly either, but I hope you enjoy :)

Damian, despite all the trauma that inhabits his every being, still remembers his brutal upbringing. Some say it was unfair and cruel to raise a child amongst the dark and shadows where secrets and kept and even darker ones are forged. They’d say it was an unsuitable environment for a minor, with all the death, bloodshed, and forbidden lore that coats the walls. And perhaps it was a little.... _inappropriate_ to have him grow and learn there, but Damian wasn’t meant for simplicities such as bedtimes and lullabies. He was made for greatness, made to cleanse the world of mankind’s sins and tragedies. He was born to become the next heir to the throne, the next Al Ghul to share their story of greatness and prosperity.

And perhaps it is the fact he’d been so, so naive, so young. Or maybe it’s the utter betrayal that still surges through his veins at the thought of his tainted surname, - the one that holds no justice of truth whatsoever - but it still hurts that he’d ever been foolish enough to believe all the lies Grandfather and his servants had fed him. Better yet, it hurts that he once _followed_ a man that was nothing but madness and twisted morals who only sought to fulfill his interests. It stung and burnt hot, searing through his skin and bones just to make it to his heart, which throbbed in agony from the indisputable truths and the horrid lies that had finally been revealed after years of being told the same, damn things.

For so long, Damian had believed Grandfather strived to achieve world peace and many other things akin to the topic. He’d believed his Grandfather was a noble man, one who took extreme measures only when they were required and one who only ended the lives of those who were unfit to live among the untainted. And along the way, Damian had learned that way of thinking had been wrong all along, because the Al Ghul’s were _anything but_ untainted. They were cruel and unfair, murderers who executed anyone and everyone for little reason except petty grudges and un-given respect they believe they deserved for ludicrous reasons. They were unforgiving and viscous, incapable of expressing anything other than madness and uncontrollable rage. And their eyes…. they glow acid green in their worst moments, displaying the power and darkness that has taken form in them due to the glowing green water that pulses through their veins.

And Damian was one of them. He was one of the corrupted and angered souls that were the Al Ghuls. He was a murder who held petty grudges and threatened to terminate people, to end their lives because he didn’t like something. Damian has blood on his hands. He is responsible for a multitude of deaths, responsible for the falling of loved ones and innocent beings who meant no harm.

 _But I changed_ , he says to himself. And he did, didn’t he? He threw away the twisted morals he had adopted as his own for ten, grueling years. He re-trained himself and worked hard to stop thinking of _“kill him and all our problems are over_ ” or _“these dirty scum doesn’t deserve to breathe”_ . He learned how to lessen his jabs, to erase the auto pilot mode that directed him towards murder and bloodshed. Damian learned what _love_ and _family_ is, and he learned to _care_ and _protect_ these imbeciles he spends most his days with. He did. He _changed_. But that does rectify all the wrongs errs he’s committed in his younger years? Does that suddenly make all the death and screaming, the broken bones and throbbing pain, okay? Does it make it better? Does it heal the bruises and the punctures?

No.

It doesn’t.

His past is something that will haunt him for eternity. It’ll plague his worst nightmares with crimson blood and pleading screams of _“stop! please stop!”_. It’ll remind him of the monster he was, the monster that is confined in the deepest, darkest corners of his soul where hopefully, no one can see it. Sometimes, he’ll remember being thrown into the Lazarus Pit, the sensation of burning like fire and prickling like dry ice coating his skin as he sinks down, down, down, lungs screaming for oxygen and arms flailing with legs to try and swim. And other times, he’ll see nothing but glowing green eyes too similar to his own.

And that’s okay because he can deal with it, and he does.

He draws the scenes that he dreams and makes sure to hide that particular sketch book in a place where no one would bother to look. He plays the violin, strums the strings softly and whispers lyrics to songs in a quiet corner when no one is around. He reads the books Mother had read to him on warm, dark nights so long ago when the dessert and beaming sun had been his home.

Damian does all these things and more, ignoring and embracing the truth that has been withheld and unacknowledged for far too long. And sometimes, on nights where Damian cannot fall asleep with glowing green and nasty whispers haunting him, he climbs up to the roof and stares at the stars, remembering when Mother used to point out the constellations, naming them and telling a story for each unique shape they observed. He remembered when she made him Lentil Soup when he was sick or injured or feeling down and when she gave him a warm, affectionate smile he wished to see one last time.

But she is dead, and she had changed for the worst.

The loving Mother he knew when he was younger had been gone when they came face to face again. She was replaced with the traditional Al Ghul, the one with glowing green eyes that held no remorse. And Damian missed her _so much_ , but she was _gone_. She would no longer hold him close or stroke his midnight hair, would no longer tuck his head under her chin and whisper soothing words in Arabic. 

And Damian, despite knowing the place in which he grew _was_ inappropriate and unacceptable, wishes he could go back in time and relive a life that is no longer his to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are highly encouraged :)


End file.
